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Breathe in. Focus, adjust. Byeongkwan twitches his shoulder, gets the stock of his sniper rifle to sit just a little more comfortably against it. Breathe out. Waiting is always the hardest part. Every nerve in his body is on fire and painfully alive despite him being statue-still; if someone were to startle him now, he’d probably jump about a foot in the air and fall clean off the roof of the skyscraper he’s lying atop.
Breathe in. He’ll be here soon, hopefully. He’s not late quite yet, but Byeongkwan’s antsy regardless, already having to push down the first few “what ifs” crawling their way to the forefront of his mind. Breathe out. They’ve done this a million times and nothing too bad has happened yet- personally, Byeongkwan thinks the six-month-old scar arcing through his left eyebrow is rather fetching, more of a fashion statement than an injury. He shifts his legs a little bit, tries to bring some feeling back into them. It’s a futile task considering how long he’s held them still for.
Breathe in. The door to the hotel room Byeongkwan’s been scoped in on for the past hour finally slams open, two people falling through the threshold. One moves the pin the other to the wall, lips attaching themselves to their partner’s neck. They’re so wrapped up in each other, such a scene of picturesque passion, that he could probably be on their balcony in the same position and the couple wouldn’t notice.
Breathe out. Byeongkwan hates honeypot jobs the most. His index finger scratches against his rifle’s trigger guard, a nervous habit triggered tonight by the anger bubbling underneath his skin. It’s fine- he’s used to this. It’s what he gets for not taking the harder part of the job himself. Breathe in. They’re behind a curtain at the moment, only the back of a head and ugly bleach-blonde hair telling him that the two haven’t moved deeper into the hotel suite. Although he can’t see much from his vantage point, it’s clear the couple’s makeout session is heating up. He can’t take the shot yet. It’s agony to wait.
Breathe out. Finally, finally, finally, the pair comes into view in a blur of designer suits and light hair. They almost make it to the bed, but Blondie decides instead to slam his partner into the wall, kissing him roughly and slipping a leg between the other’s thighs. Breathe in. If Byeongkwan didn’t spend hours every day trying to meditate, learning to perfect his breathing and keep calm when his natural tendency towards volatility reared up, he’d be seething.
Breathe out. Fuck this. He has enough of a shot lined up, even if it’s not quite according to their plan. He sends a mental apology to his partner for what he’s about to do -hopefully he won’t get too bloody- but he can’t bring himself feel anything other than the satisfaction that soon the man will be gone.
Hold. Byeongkwan stops breathing and lets instinct take over. His index finger tightens around the trigger and he shifts his rifle ever so slightly, lining Blondie’s head up perfectly in his crosshairs. There’s no hesitation- the moment he’s sure his angle is right, Byeongkwan pulls the trigger, barely notices the fierce kick of his gun as he compensates for recoil.
Breathe in, breathe out. Mission accomplished.
Silence from the hotel room. Byeongkwan doesn’t need to keep watching it- in about thirty seconds it’ll be empty. He clicks the safety back on, slings his rifle over his back in one easy motion and stands, stretching his aching limbs as best as he can without being too conspicuous. Pushing open the door to the skyscraper’s interior, he slips ghostlike through the rows of empty cubicles and offices on the highest floor and makes for the elevator.
The streets are cold tonight without the rush of adrenaline keeping him warm, and Byeongkwan buries his hands in his jacket pockets as he leans up against the edge of a bus terminal. There are no buses running this time of night, but that’s not what he’s waiting for.
He doesn’t have to stand idle long, as a man with hair as white as bone soon turns the corner and strolls down the street, hands similarly stuffed in the pockets of his slacks. He moves slowly, gracefully, languidly, someone who owns the very street he walks upon. Even the moon emerges from behind a passing cloud to illuminate him, turning his white hair luminescent and glinting off of the earrings in his ears, the effect leaving him looking positively ethereal.
God, he’s beautiful. Byeongkwan loves him so much it’s stupid.
He halts in front of Byeongkwan and smiles at him, a gentle, loving thing far softer than his outward appearance would suggest him capable of creating. Delicately, Byeongkwan cups his face in his hands and kisses him. It’s chaste, sweet, and just the way Sehyoon likes it. With a petty sort of vindictiveness Byeongkwan notices he tastes like mint, a sign he’d just chewed gum to get Blondie’s taste out of his mouth.
“Hey babe,” Sehyoon breathes, hands coming up to cover Byeongkwan’s. They’re ice cold, but he can’t bring himself to give a damn. He’d hold Sehyoon’s hands if they burned to the touch without complaint, because just holding hands with him is enough to make Byeongkwan’s life worth living.
“Hi, love,” he whispers back. He can feel Sehyoon’s smile, shy and charmed, and Byeongkwan kisses him again just because he can. “I hope that guy didn’t bleed on you too much.”
Sehyoon huffs a soft laugh. “Only on my shoes, nothing too bad.” He pauses briefly, like he’s thinking something over. “Weren’t you supposed to wait until we got on the bed to take the shot, though?”
“He was being rough with you,” Byeongkwan pouts. “I know you don’t like that.”
“I don’t like any part of honeypot jobs,” Sehyoon reminds him, “I think it was you who had more of a problem with what we were doing.”
He’s right, of course, because Sehyoon can read Byeongkwan like an open book no matter how much he protests otherwise. “A little,” he acquiesces, kisses his lover on the forehead in quiet apology. “I’m sorry.”
Sehyoon pecks him on the nose in answer, and it’s so cute Byeongkwan can’t help but move forward again and press kisses to both his cheeks. “You were fine,” Sehyoon manages through pecks and laughter, “The guy died and everything went more or less according to plan.”
“What Jun doesn’t know won’t hurt him, right?” Byeongkwan grins.
Sehyoon rolls his eyes fondly. “We still have to tell him.”
They start to walk, fingers intertwined loosely and swinging in the space between them. Byeongkwan’s sniper rifle bounces against his back as he walks. He sticks to the shadows of buildings while Sehyoon remains bathed in light, looking not unlike an angel.
“What’ll it take for you not to mention it?”
Sehyoon thinks for a moment. “I dunno- what do you have to offer me?”
“Nothing but my undying love for you,” Byeongkwan replies, shoots him the most theatrically lovestruck look he can.
“Not enough,” Sehyoon says through his laughter, the sound musical and gorgeous as it bounces off the buildings around them.
“Kisses, then,” Byeongkwan decides, leaning over and pressing a peck to his lover’s cheek. “No one can resist that.”
Sehyoon accepts the first few kisses without comment, but when Byeongkwans leans in for the fifth one he twists his head so their lips meet. “Fine,” he says when they part. “You win.”
“I always do when you’re involved,” Byeongkwan hums.
“Untrue,” Sehyoon replies immediately, tone light and teasing, “Just last week I absolutely destroyed you at-”
“Yeah yeah, I get it,” Byeongkwan cuts him off and sticks his tongue out. “You’re a better shot than me.”
“And don’t you forget it,” Sehyoon agrees.
“You take the sniping next time, see how you like it.”
Notable silence from Sehyoon. After a moment Byeongkwan glances at him curiously. “What’s-”
Oh. Oh. Byeonkwan lets out a delighted cackle. “You’re just as bad as I am, aren’t you?”
More silence. Finally, Sehyoon opens his mouth, voice so soft it’s almost inaudible. “I may or may not have requested Jun to let me do the honeypot part this time just so I didn’t have to watch you make out with someone else.”
Byeongkwan grins so bright it puts the stars to shame and puts a hand over his heart. “Babe,” he coos, “Sehyoonie. That’s so cute.”
“You’re doing it next time,” Sehyoon huffs, but he’s smiling.
“Gladly,” Byeongkwan chirps. “Gosh, Sehyoonie, I can’t believe you’re jealous-”
The next morning, a young, rich playboy will be found dead in his hotel room from a gunshot wound to the head. His name is unimportant- he’s one man in a sea of similar people, all with the same designer suits and overinflated egos. The official explanation, after a brief investigation, will be that a jilted ex-lover hired a hitman to kill him off. Two months later, an anonymous tip will reveal that he’d been embezzling funds from his company at the expense of his workers.
No one will know about what really happened. No one will mention two men with hair the color of snow and thunderclouds who only have eyes for each other.
And that’s just how they like it.